


Dominion

by TheCloudAtlas



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Civil War, Damsel Becomes Less Of A Damsel, Dawnstar - Freeform, Demonic Possession, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Female Lead Is Not The Dragonborn, Full Cast - Freeform, Imperials, Markarth, Nightcaller Temple, Nord, Possession, Racism, Sexual Themes, Stormcloaks, Thalmor, Violence, high elf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 07:32:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8154025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCloudAtlas/pseuds/TheCloudAtlas
Summary: Ehlnofey is an excellent specimen, a superiorly bred High Elf who has lived a life of sheltered education. She was sent to Skyrim to be bred with Ondolemar, but somehow things went terribly wrong. In a whirlwind of only a few days, she finds herself alone and traumatized in a harsh land with no means of getting to her new home.Hadvar is a typical Nord soldier living the typical Skyrim life. Then the dragon attacks Helgen, but combat is still combat and he survives. He just isn't sure how he ended up having to escort some important High Elf across Skyrim in the process, especially one who can't even fight. Their journey is one of racism and growth, love and duty, cruelty and kindness.And then there's the small matter of her becoming possessed.





	1. Chapter 1

“Haming, you need to get over here!”

Hadvar felt, rather than heard, his voice crack. The ash and smoke that swirled through the air scratched his throat and burned his lungs. It was hard to hear anything through the chaos around him. Fiery rocks rained from the sky and exploded, sending sprays of dirt up in their wake. Imperial and Stormcloak soldiers alike were running around yelling orders, and everyone was keeping an eye on the sky.

The Nord squinted his burning eyes and looked into the air. He couldn’t see the dragon that was the source of all of the destruction, but he knew that there wasn’t much time to retrieve the boy from the clearing before the inevitable happened.

Haming was knelt over the unmoving form of his father, Torolf. He seemed oblivious to the fire raining down around him, and even worse, his back was to Hadvar. The Imperial soldier waited tensely as the wooden beams of the house beside him splintered and crackled like kindling. It was still better shelter than standing out in the open, and Hadvar was determined to get the boy to relative safety.

A horrible roar split the thick air like thunder, tearing Hadvar’s attention back towards the swirling, dark clouds above.

He spotted the hulking, menacing blackness of the dragon circling above them, and his blood ran cold.

Hadvar snapped his gaze back to the boy, who now stood frozen, looking up at the imposing form of the beast. 

“Don’t look up!” Hadvar shouted desperately, drawing the child’s attention. “Just focus on me, Haming!”

The young Nord hesitated for only a moment more, and the massive shadow of the dragon fell over him.

This seemed to spur Haming into action, and the boy stumbled out from underneath the darkness that the beast cast over the ground. Hadvar reached for the boy as he scrambled blindly towards the Imperial soldier.

Once got a hand on the child, Hadvar yanked him forward, causing them both to stumble as the dragon crashed down to the earth.

The Imperial soldier flailed for a moment, desperately trying to avoid being knocked to the ground. It took only a moment for him to regain his balance. Hadvar looked down at the cowering child he was holding and shifted his grip, preparing to drag the limp boy out of the way of the dragon.

But it was staring right at them.

“That a boy, you’re doing great,” Hadvar murmured encouragingly, keeping his gaze on the beast’s beady eyes.

To his surprise, he felt Haming start to stand, which was enough for Hadvar to let the child go as the dragon’s massive head reared up above them.

“Gods…” Hadvar breathed, his eyes widening in horror they scrambled to get behind the destroyed house. He yelled as they rushed towards the cluster of townspeople hiding behind the building. “Everyone get back!”

Flames erupted for the dragon’s mouth with an ear piercing screech. Even from behind the house, Hadvar could feel the incredible heat as they rushed past his body.

He stayed down until the earth beneath him shook once more, and the dragon took back to the darkened skies.

Hadvar stood back up and looked around, trying to take stock of the situation.

He was relieved to see that Haming had also made it behind the building. The boy was crouching alongside the few townspeople who were also beginning to stand, murmuring amongst themselves. In the midst of the pale, worried faces of his kinsmen was one that was strikingly different.

A female High Elf had somehow found her way into the fray. She was looking at the ground, standing apart from the Nords while shaking violently. The Elf had the longest hair he had ever seen, and the singed strands hid her face from view.

“You’re still alive, prisoner?” Hadvar wondered aloud. He had last seen the ragged High Elf kneeling over the executioner’s block when the dragon crashed down. It would have taken an incredible stroke of luck to survive all that, yet here she was. The Elf’s head snapped up as he raised his voice over the din around them, but she looked away just as quickly.

The Nord couldn’t help but feel bad for the prisoner. She certainty wasn’t hardy enough to be from Skyrim, and he seriously doubted that a High Elf would purposefully get mixed up with the Stormcloaks.

“Well,” he relented, taking pity on the Elf, “keep close to me if you want to stay that way.” With that, Hadvar directed his attention away from the unresponsive Elf and to the aging Nord beside him. “Gunnar, take care of the boy. I have to find General Tullius and join the defense.”

The elder’s heavily wrinkled features tightened in determination. He nodded his head severely. “Gods guide you, Hadvar.”

Now that Hamming was taken care of, the soldier turned his gaze back to the clearing. Staying out in the open too long was suicide. Between the dragon flying around and the fiery rocks falling from the sky, he was going to have to find cover if he was expecting to make it to the other Imperial forces.

Across the clearing was a small shelter nestled between the broadside of a burning house and a sturdy stone wall.

Hadvar turned his eyes to the ashy sky, looking for the silhouette of the dragon. The air above him was free of its looming shadow.

The Imperial soldier burst into action, sprinting across the clearing. Upon reaching the stone wall, he slammed his back against it, flattening himself into its shadow as he heard a roar from somewhere far too close.

When he went to check the sky, Hadvar nearly missed the High Elf stumbling past him.

He jumped in surprise, having already forgotten about his invitation to the silent Elf. With one hand, Hadvar swiftly reached out and snatched the collar of her threadbare tunic. His actions jerked her to a halt just as the dragon landed on the stone wall. An explosion of gravel and stone rained down upon them.

“Stay close to the wall!” he yelled hoarsely, his words quickly drowned out by the screaming fire that scorched the ground in front of them. It torched both the remains of the house they hid behind and its neighbor, and the crackling of the heavy wooden beams splintered the air as the dragon took off again.

Hadvar released the breath he had been holding and turned to the High Elf, only to have her tear herself away from his now relaxed grip. She stumbled forward from her own momentum and yelped stridently as her left foot hit the ground. He watched, baffled, as the Elf reflexively jerked her leg up and tried to hop forward on her right foot before tripping and falling into the dirt.

The soldier went to help her up. As he advanced, though, the High Elf flipped onto her back and backpedaled frantically out of his reach, flinching all the while.

He stood, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he looked at the frozen Elf on the ground.

“You okay?” he asked anxiously. She refused to acknowledge him or even open her eyes. Hadvar backed away from her.

He looked over the High Elf’s form, trying to figure out what was wrong. The soldier noted that her skin was discolored by bruises in various shades of fading, along with some minor cuts and burns. What worried him most was her foot. Both of her feet were clad in only bandages, and he could see that her left ankle was swollen underneath the dirty fabric.

But she wasn’t bleeding. If the Elf could stand the pain long enough to get up and get herself to safety, then maybe she wouldn’t die. Hadvar was shocked that she had gotten as far as she had.

“You’ve got to get up!” Hadvar urged. He looked anxiously at the swirling, angry clouds above them.

The soldier was just about to give up and keep moving when the shell-shocked High Elf finally stirred. Using her arms, she managed to painstakingly push herself back to her feet, where she leaned heavily against the wall.

She still wouldn’t meet his eyes. Hadvar sighed. “We’ve got to keep moving,” he stated, before turning and walking past her.

He set a slow pace, picking his way over the still smoldering remains of the destroyed building. The debris crackled underneath his feet.

It didn’t take long for Hadvar to emerge in another clearing. The area around him was much larger than the previous one, and in considerably better shape. Imperial soldiers filled the field with their bows and eyes aimed at the angry sky.

General Tullius was among them. His narrowed eyes searched for the flying beast even as he tried to dodge the flaming rocks crashing down around him.

Hadvar ran directly towards the General, and the Imperial caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and looked at the soldier in surprise.

His voice was strained over the din. “Hadvar!”

The Nord stopped at his superior’s yell and looked at the older man tensely.

A roar split the air, causing both men to look up at the swirling clouds. The dragon came overhead, casting a long shadow over the ground before doubling back to torch another row of destroyed houses.

General Tullius looked back at Hadvar and raised his voice over the chaos. “Into the keep, soldier! We’re leaving!”

The younger man nodded obediently. He turned to seek shelter from the firestorm and spotted the High Elf through the ash, leaning heavily on the charred beams of the house they had come through. She had been watching him, but immediately looked away.

He directed his attention to the high stone arch that opened up Helgen’s wall. Hadvar knew that the keep was in the adjacent field. It wouldn’t be much further to relative safety.

The soldier returned to the injured Elf. “Looks like it’s you and me, prisoner.” He looked back towards the stone keep. “Stay close.”

With that, Hadvar led the way to the far side of the clearing and down the sloping decline that led to the keep’s doors.

He stopped suddenly, spotting a Stormcloak running across the field. The Imperial soldier squinted his eyes through the smoke and ash falling through the air.

“Ralof!” He barked, suddenly recognizing the other Nord. The man in question stopped suddenly, looking for the source of the sound. When their eyes met, Hadvar could feel his blood beginning to boil.

Somehow he knew that the Stormcloaks had something to do with the dragon. With the beast causing Helgen to fall around them, all of the prisoners were going free. It seemed that Ulfric chose his life over that of all of the innocent people who had died in the attack.

But retaliating now would just mean more time in the open, exposed to the dragon and the flaming rocks.

“You damned traitor, out of my way!” Hadvar yelled, his voice rough from anger and debris.

Ralof looked at the other man cooly, his features solemn. “We’re escaping, Hadvar,” he responded evenly. His light eyes flickered to the figure behind the other soldier. “You’re not stopping us this time.”

Hadvar tensed, and he glared suspiciously at the High Elf standing off to the side. She didn’t look at him. The Elf was frozen, staring at the Stormcloak in front of them with wide eyes.

When he turned back around, Ralof had already taken off across the field towards the keep’s closer entrance. “You!” he called out as he passed, “Come on, into the keep!”

The Imperial soldier didn’t spare the High Elf another glance. With a dismissive grunt, Hadvar ran for the keep’s far entrance. He couldn’t imagine what kind of deal the Stormcloaks could have possibly struck with a High Elf, but he resigned himself to feeling grateful that the injured mer hadn’t gotten the opportunity to stab him in the back.

Upon reaching the door, though, he hesitated. He couldn’t help but to look back at Ralof and the High Elf, and felt himself caught off guard by a sense of relief. The Elf hadn’t moved an inch. Her head was still turned towards Ralof, but she nonetheless made a definite step in the direction Hadvar had gone.

The dragon’s ferocious roar shook the air around them. Suddenly, Hadvar recalled that it was incredibly unsafe for his charge to stand exposed in the middle of the field.

“With me, prisoner!” he called, trying to spark her into action. “Let’s go!”

The High Elf visibly flinched and turned her anxious stare, for a fleeting moment, in Hadvar’s direction. He waved her closer.

She seemed steadied by the attention. He watched the Elf hobble painstakingly closer as the flames and rocks fell around her.

Once she was close, Hadvar pulled the keep’s heavy door wide for her to enter before following her inside.

Hadvar grunted as he pulled the wooden door shut behind them. Immediately the sounds of devastation – the roar of the dragon, the shouts of the men, and the sounds of the fireballs crashing to the earth – became muffled. The stone walls surrounding them were thick and the air was stuffy. He was keenly aware of his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

The soldier quickly took stock of the room around them as he walked past the unmoving Elf. He had expected to find other Imperial soldiers, or even citizens, within the keep, but the beds were barren and the fires were dim.

Hadvar sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. He turned back to the Elf, who was still standing beside the door. “Looks like we’re the only ones who made it,” he admitted disappointedly. His attention snapped to the ceiling when the dragon roared, and a crash sent pebbles raining down.

He shook his head in disbelief. “Was that really a dragon? The bringers of the end times?”

Another roar sounded off in the distance.

“We should keep moving,” Hadvar decided, steeling his features.

He looked at the High Elf prisoner critically. In the dim light, the mer looked even more harrowed than before. She certainly didn’t look like any criminal he had ever seen. The Elf was thin, almost sickly, dwarfed by the roughspun tunic she wore. Her skin was covered in bruises, cuts, and burns. Most obviously, the Elf was still plainly favoring her right leg, and Hadvar could definitely see her swollen left ankle stretching the rags wrapped around it.

There was no way she was going to make it through the keep dressed like that.

“Come here,” Hadvar relented, now confident that the High Elf wasn’t a threat. “Let me see if I can get those bindings off.”

The soldier watched her as the air stilled between them. She was still refusing to meet his eyes, and he watched as her already shallow breathing picked up anxiously.

But then suddenly her eyes were on his, and it took every ounce of Hadvar’s training not to visibly flinch. He didn’t make a habit of looking High Elves in the eye. Their eyes were incredibly eerie, and were so often narrowed in disgust or malice. Even though hers were wide, the golden stare still made him uncomfortable.

Not one to let himself be intimidated, Hadvar took a slow step closer, keeping his eyes on hers. The High Elf looked away first as he reached out and took her bound wrists.

Since she wasn’t looking, Hadvar allowed himself to wince. The singed rope was bound far too tight on her tiny wrists, and he could see that the golden skin underneath was rubbed raw and oozing blood.

He felt her muscles tense at the sound of him unsheathing his dagger. With one hand, he held her bound arms still by holding her at the elbows while the other focused on working the blade between her bony wrists. The rope cut with a snap, and just as quickly the Elf moved out of his loose hold.

“There you go,” Hadvar said reassuringly. He didn’t look at the High Elf, not wanting to spook her. Instead he turned to the chests around them.

She was going to have to get into something more protective than a couple pieces of burlap. “Take a look around,” he offered, “there should be plenty of gear to choose from. I’m going to see if I can find anything for these burns.”

Hadvar turned away and walked to the far side of the room, busying himself by rummaging for potions while also listening closely to the High Elf behind him. Her footsteps were loud as they scratched through the dust on the floor. She didn’t try to come any closer to him, however, and it wasn’t long before he heard a chest open and the jingle of Imperial armor.

The room was silent for a few seconds, and Hadvar allowed another minute to pass before turning to check on his companion.

She was standing completely still, staring directly at him.

Hadvar shoved down a shudder. Instead, he tried to figure out why the armor was not on the Elf, but stacked on the bed next to her.

“You should probably get that armor on,” he advised.

The Elf looked away from him, suddenly losing her nerve, and shifted her weight uncomfortably. She hugged her arms across her chest, turning away.

Once again Hadvar found himself distracted by her hair as it swayed from her movement. It was so long – longer than any hair he had ever seen, and he could now see that it fell to about halfway down her back – but he wasn’t sure if that was normal for High Elves or not. He didn’t think it would do her any favors in a fight. The full set of Imperial armor would probably help, but then High Elves were known for their magic, and he knew a lot of mages who didn’t wear armor.

But that didn’t change the fact that she needed to wear shoes.

“At least put the boots on,” Hadvar urged.

The Elf looked at the boots for a long moment, then relented, sitting down on the bed and pulling too-big footwear over her feet.

Hadvar walked to the pull chain next to the door that led deeper into the keep. “Let’s keep moving. That thing is still out there.” They had already wasted too much time, and this receiving room put only one wall between them and the dragon.

The bars slid out of the way with a clank. Hadvar looked back at the High Elf, who had stood and begun moving towards him. “Come on,” he urged, “this way.”


	2. Chapter 2

Hadvar led the way through the short hall.

At the far end was another chain, and once he pulled it the wooden bars blocking the way to the next room slid down into the floor.

The soldier led the way into the main entrance of the keep, looking around tensely. He knew that all of the keep’s entrances conjoined here. Once he was sure that the coast was clear of Stormcloaks, Hadvar relaxed.

Just as he was about to turn to the High Elf behind him, he heard voices coming from one of the adjoining halls.

“Hear that?” Hadvar whispered urgently. He looked down the corridor to his right and caught a glimpse of blue uniforms. “Stormcloaks.”

The Imperial soldier wasn’t eager to waste time fighting with the dragon still outside. He looked to the mer behind him for support, only to watch as she backed away, her wide eyes focused on the approaching Stormcloaks. She huddled herself against a shadowed wall.

“Maybe we can reason with them,” Hadvar offered, hoping, foolish as it was, that the other Nords would be more concerned with escaping than attacking.

The Elf didn’t do so much as twitch in response to his comment. With a sinking feeling, Hadvar understood her trepidation. Even if the Stormcloaks were willing to overlooking his position as an Imperial soldier, there was no way that they were going to put up with a High Elf.

In any case, the two young Nords were hardly through the gate before they spotted Hadvar and drew their weapons.

Hadvar readied his sword and shield as the Stormcloaks charged forward.

“If you want to die, so be it,” he announced resolutely, blocking the eager swing of the woman’s greatsword.

As she tried to recover from the momentum of the heavy weapon, Hadvar threw his weight behind his shield and bashed her in the head. She stumbled backwards as one of her hands left her weapon to cradle her injured features. He didn’t allow her any time to recover. While she was still reeling, the Imperial soldier lunged forward and thrusted his sword through her torso.

The poor woman looked down in shock before falling to her knees.

Even as she fell, Hadvar was already listening for the heavy footsteps of the young, red-haired Stormcloak who had disappeared behind him. As it turned out, he didn’t need to.

It was the sound of a deep battle cry that alerted the Imperial soldier to the warhammer being swung at his back.

Hadvar sidestepped out of the way as he turned, half pivoting and half jumping to face the other man. The Stormcloak recovered relatively quickly and swung again as Hadvar raised his shield.

The heavy thump of the warhammer made his shield arm ache.

He dropped his guard as soon as he could, not wanting to withstand another solid hit. The younger man seemed to have boundless energy, however, and Hadvar managed to get in only a few rushed, glancing hits against the rebel’s armor before he was forced to put up his shield again.

Hadvar grunted in pain as the heavy warhammer slammed into his shield for a second time. His arm was quickly getting fatigued. It was definitely going to bruise at this point, and he wasn’t confident about being able to take another solid blow anytime soon.

Without looking, he repeated the same bashing attack that had succeeded earlier, desperate to avoid another swing from the heavy weapon.

He heard the Stormcloak grunt in pain.

Hadvar lowered his shield to get a better look as he hopped out of the momentarily stunned Stormcloak’s range. The other Nord recovered quickly from the inaccurate hit.

When his opponent pulled his warhammer back again, Hadvar noticed that he was just a bit slower. He took a risk on the slight opening and leapt forward, catching the other man by surprise as he brought his sword down over his opponent’s unprotected head.

The Imperial soldier watched the Stormcloak crumple to the ground with a tinge of sadness, even as the adrenaline drained from his veins. If those two Stormcloaks had been any evidence, it seemed that the rebels were only getting younger. They were barely more than children, really, and too eager and inexperienced to be any good in combat. It was a shame.

Hadvar distracted himself by looking for the High Elf.

She still cowering in the shadows, but had sunk to the floor in huddled ball. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he watched her small, trembling form.

Hadvar sheathed his sword, allowing it to shatter the sudden, eerie silence as it slid into its scabbard with a noisy clank. The Elf flinched and looked up. Her gaze fell on Hadvar fleetingly, but was quickly torn to the bodies lying on the floor before she reflexively squeezed her eyes shut. He watched as her shuddering got worse.

Her golden skin was pale in the odd light coming from above them. It cast odd shadows on her face, leaving the mer looking haggard and tired.

Hadvar was at a loss. He looked towards the bodies behind him, then back at the Elf.

“They’re not going to hurt you,” the soldier offered, trying to be reassuring. To be honest, he was anxious to get out of the room. “But there’s going to be others if we don’t get out of here.”

The idea of more Stormcloaks seemed to spur the High Elf into action. When Hadvar turned away, he heard the shuffling of her getting to her feet. Out of the corner of his eye he watched her as she used the stones of the wall to support her shaking limbs.

“Let’s go,” Hadvar urged, leading the way out of the room.

They walked down the short flight of stairs that led from the room in silence. It didn’t take long for them to reach the next floor down, where the area opened up into a long, wide hallway lined by wooden doors.

Hadvar hesitated for a moment, unsure if he had heard anything suspicious. A few pebbles rained down from the ceiling amidst a puff of dust.

He looked up at the ceiling distrustfully.

Suddenly, the dragon’s roar came with a vengeance, sounding so incredibly loud and close that its shockwave shook the very walls around them. A cloud of dust and debris came raining down.

“Look out!” Hadvar outstretched his arm as he backed away, bringing the High Elf with him as the stones from the floor above came crashing down. Their impact with the ground shook the floor.

The soldier stumbled back into a wall and used it to keep his balance until the dust cleared.

Once it had settled, Hadvar cast a glance behind him to check on the Elf. She was slowly getting up from where she had fallen to the floor, but other than her obviously avoiding putting weight onto her left leg the mer seemed relatively unharmed.

Ahead of them, the hallway was now packed with heavy boulders and rocks. Hadvar immediately threw out any plan to move them – they were too large, and even if he managed to dislodge some of the small stones the whole thing would likely come down on top of them. Their only option was to go through the first door lining the wall.

“Damn,” Hadvar grumbled. “That dragon doesn’t give up easy.”

He opened the side door, allowing the limping Elf into the storage room ahead of him before following her inside.

Barrels and shelves lined the walls on either side of the room. Drying herbs and animal carcasses hung from the ceiling, making the air smell of spice. A small cooking fire provided light, and between its glow and that of the candles lining the walls, the cluttered room was well lit.

It was quiet, save for the crackling of the dying flames.

Hadvar heard voices muttering to each other across the room, and spotted two Stormcloak soldiers talking to one another beside a row of barrels.

Unfortunately, the door that he had left wide upon their entrance came to a noisy close.

When the two Stormcloaks came closer to investigate the noise, Hadvar drew his sword. The sound drew their attention as he moved further into the room, trying to get closer to a table near the far wall. He kept his eyes on the other men as he listened to make sure that the High Elf was staying safely behind him.

“Where’d you two come from?” he asked humorlessly.

Though his new opponents were a bit older than the previous Stormcloaks – in fact, they looked to be about Hadvar’s age – they still used the same slow, heavy weapons that were favored by many of the rebel forces.

Hadvar raised his shield as the Stormcloaks advanced slowly, looking for an opening. He was trying to reach the table so they would have one less direction to outflank him. Their large weapons would handle clumsily in the small space between the scattered furniture and the cabinets against the walls.

He managed to get his back to the table before the Stormcloaks made their move. Hadvar heard the Elf scramble to get behind the table and felt grateful that she had gotten herself out of the way.

The blonde Stormcloak wielding a greatsword attacked first. As he pulled his weapon back, Hadvar hooked his foot around the legs of the chair to his left, sending it tipping forward. He kicked the awkward, brittle furniture at the man. The Stormcloak was forced to use his greatsword swing to deflect the chair instead, and Hadvar took that moment to throw his weight behind his shield and bash the rebel in the face.

He saw the man reel backwards, tripping and falling over the same chair that had just been knocked away by his greatsword. Hadvar’s attention was immediately torn away when he was forced to turn and block an attack from the battleaxe to his right. The clang of metal hitting his shield was still ringing in the air when Hadvar dropped his guard and struck out low.

The Imperial soldier sliced clean through the fur armor below the man’s knee, splitting his calf open.

In response, the Stormcloak dropped his battleaxe and fell to his uninjured knee, leaving an easy opening for Hadvar to slice his sword across the other man’s throat.

Unfortunately, the Imperial soldier lost track of the other rebel in the process.

He saw the greatsword coming in his peripheral vision and tried to stumble backwards out of its range. It was far from a graceful move on his part, but Hadvar managed to turn a potentially deadly blow into one that split the leather armor on the side of his abdomen. He felt the metal slice through his skin, but ignored it.

It was more important to get out of the way of the angry Stormcloak, who was already preparing for another strike.

The other man swung is blade in a series of continuous arcs that forced Hadvar to sidestep frantically. He dodged each attack, desperately trying to put some damage between him and the Stormcloak.

Eventually Hadvar was able to work his way into the open center of the room. The Stormcloak was beginning to slow down as he tired himself out. Finally, the Imperial soldier was able to put his shield up and block the attacks, but he was beginning to get exhausted too.

Hadvar finally got his opening to attack as his opponent’s movements became so sluggish that there were several seconds between each hit to his shield. He released the shield following one particularly slow attack, and grabbed the other man by the shoulder as it fell to the floor with a clank. Using his last bit of strength and the element of surprise, he yanked the Stormcloak close, plunging his waiting sword clean through his opponent’s torso.

He felt the man’s low groan of pain go over his shoulder.

The Imperial soldier threw the dying man’s body off of him, sending the limp form to the floor with a muffled thump.

Hadvar buckled too. He dropped his bloodied sword where the other Nord’s body and his shield had fallen and clasped his hands over his knees, breathing raggedly. After a moment, he slapped an open palm to the place where his side was burning to check for blood.

It came back smeared with crimson, but not coated. Hadvar wasn’t interested in looking at the injury. From the amount of blood, the cut was shallow enough that he wasn’t going to bleed out anytime soon.

But by the gods, did it hurt.

Hadvar hissed from the pain as he stood back to his full height, looking around the room. Where had the High Elf gone?

She was still hiding behind the table, her golden eyes wide as she stared at his injured side.

The soldier couldn’t help but to feel a twinge of irritation. Now this was the second time that the Elf had left him to fight alone. He didn’t really understand why she wasn’t helping, but with even a little assistance he probably could’ve avoided getting hurt by being outnumbered.

Unaware of his thoughts, the mer continued to stare anxiously at his injury.

“I’ll be alright,” Hadvar grunted, trying to keep the High Elf calm. She wasn’t going to become any more useful by constantly retreating into a state of shock.

He looked towards the barrels on the far side of the room. “Check those barrels and see if you can find some potions,” Hadvar directed. The soldier tried to move towards them, but flinched when he felt the gash on his abdomen tear at the edges.

The Elf blinked rapidly, seeming to regain some of her senses back. She followed Hadvar’s gaze to the barrels.

He watched as she crept around the carnage on the floor silently, the bulky Imperial boots sliding in the dust as she moved.

It took a minute or two of the Elf rummaging through the barrels before Hadvar heard the clanking of glass. He looked up and in her direction.

The mer held two glass bottles in either hand, one shimmering with green liquid and the other red. Hadvar silently thanked the gods.

“Give me the red one,” he said shortly, too eager to numb the pain to concern himself with pleasantries. The soldier watched in surprise as his companion obeyed readily, though there was still a great deal of wariness in her eyes. She came closer and reached out to place the potion in his outstretched hand.

Once he had it, the Elf immediately danced away from him. Hadvar hardly noticed as he bit the cork top of the bottle with his teeth, tearing it off in order to chug the elixir as quickly as possible.

It only took a second or two before he felt the pain beginning to ebb away.

Hadvar stood a little straighter and rolled his aching shoulders. He felt the High Elf silently watching him as he stretched and checked his shield arm for bruises.

The soldier finally looked at the Elf, who immediately looked away. “You should probably take one of those health potions for yourself, if there are any more,” he recommended. “We’ll be able to move a lot faster if you’re not running on a bum foot.”

His words caused the Elf to perk up a little. She immediately turned and returned to rummaging through the barrel, and Hadvar turned to go retrieve his weapons from the floor.

“If there are any more, bring what you can carry,” he suggested, his back to the mer. “Might come in handy. I’ve got a feeling that we have a long walk ahead of us.”

Hadvar wiped the fresh blood off of his sword and sheathed it at his hip. He then hefted his heavy shield and returned it to its place strapped across his back before turning to face the Elf.

She was facing him with her arms at her sides, and the soldier caught a glimpse of a health potion enclosed in her fist. He also noticed that the Elf had shifted her weight off of her uninjured leg, and was standing considerably straighter. High Elves were known for their height, and though she was hardly taller than he was, the mer seemed to exude a new sense of presence and poise that was familiar in his experience with her kind. The shift in character would have been more impressive if she had been able to meet his eyes.

“Done, then?” he asked, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice as he took in the tall, thin creature in the too-big boots.

They left the room and Hadvar led the way down another staircase. It led them even deeper into the keep, and the distant sounds of the chaos outside all but faded away.

The staircase ended in a small landing before turning sharply left and descending even further. Hadvar paused.

Cries of pain and the clanging of metal came from below, and he could all but feel the anxious gaze of the High Elf behind him.

“The torture room,” the soldier explained flatly. He looked stiffly towards the sounds of commotion below them, and a silent moment passed before he started moving again.

Hadvar led the way at a brisk pace, feeling tense. “Gods, I wish we didn’t need these,” he mumbled.

What they found below came as a shock.

Two Stormcloak soldiers were fighting against the resident torturer and his assistant. One of them, a Nord woman wielding a warhammer, bashed the balding assistant to the ground before their eyes. While he was lying on the floor before her, she raised her weapon and brought it down on his skull. A sickening crack split the air as a stark splatter of crimson blood splashed across the pale stone floor.

Hadvar heard the Elf behind him yelp as he turned away.

The torturer seemed to be holding his own. Hadvar knew the aging Nord as one of the rare magic users under the Imperial Legion’s employ, and the mage was using his powers to send a crackling web of lightning into the body of the battleaxe wielding Stormcloak across from him.

Hadvar dove into the fray, drawing his sword just as the woman whirled towards the sound of his intrusion. She pulled her warhammer back to intercept him, but the soldier brushed past her instead of meeting her head on as she had anticipated. The Stormcloak swung her weapon in an arc in front of her, but the Imperial soldier slid behind her back.

Before she had a chance to react, Hadvar had already wrapped his arm around her neck in a vice grip and pulled her backwards off of her feet. He brought his sword up and over them both and proceeded to stab the Stormcloak twice through the chest.

The woman dropped her battleaxe, and the soldier dropped her as she gagged on the blood rising in her throat.

From across the room, the torturer burst into a volley of dry, cruel laughter. Hadvar turned to find him standing over the form of the other recently deceased Stormcloak, poking at the man’s still-crackling body with his shoe. He looked up at Hadvar with a slight upturning of his thin lips.

“You happened along just in time,” the mage mused slyly, his rheumy gaze sliding over both Hadvar the High Elf moving through the shadows towards him. Hadvar tossed her a sidelong glance and noted that she was giving the sadistic old man a wide berth. “These boys seemed a bit upset at how I’ve been entertaining their comrades.”

Hadvar looked at the callous Nord in shock. “You don’t know what’s going on?” he asked, baffled. “A dragon is attacking Helgen!”

The torturer looked unamused, and crossed the room, nearing Hadvar as he went to check his fallen assistant’s body. He seemed unfazed by the blood that stained his already-ruined boots. “A dragon?” he scoffed, not even bothering to look up. “Please. Don’t make up nonsense.”

But then the old man looked up at the ceiling reflectively. “Although,” he wondered aloud, “I did hear some odd noises coming from over there…”

Hadvar nodded severely. “Come with us,” he urged. “We need to get out of here.”

In response the tutor threw back his head and cackled. He cut his laughter short, however, and leveled the younger soldier with a reproachful glare. “You have no authority over me, boy. Don’t think that you can order me around just because you’re Tullius’ messenger boy. I don’t see the General here giving orders.”

Hadvar ground his teeth at the unnecessary slight. “Didn’t you hear me?” he asked, annoyed. “I said the keep is under attack!”

“I hardly think that a few escaped prisoners constitutes–”

“Wait a second,” Hadvar muttered, cutting the torturer off mid-retort as the High Elf drew his attention. She had stopped moving and was staring at one of the large cages against the far wall. “Is there something in that cage?”

He walked over to the cell that had caught the mer’s attention, and the Elf backed away.

There was a robed form lying inside, propped up in a sitting potion against the wall. Hadvar couldn’t make out the person’s features under the mage hood that covered their face.

“Don’t bother with that. Lost the key ages ago,” the torturer discouraged, though he had already lost interest in the soldier and his companion. He walked over to the caged weapons area in the corner of the room. “Poor fellow screamed for weeks.”

Hadvar elected to ignore the cruel old man. Instead, he scanned the room around them, perking up when he spotted a large bag sitting on a low table in the center of the room. He walked over and rummaged through its contents.

“I’ll see if I can get it open with some picks,” he decided. “We’ll need everything that we can get.”

The torturer scoffed. “Sure, take all of my things. Please.”

Hadvar recovered a handful of lockpicks and returned to the cage.

It took a few tries, but the soldier was able to pick the jammed lock. He opened the rusted iron door and kneeled down to inspect the body inside. It was indeed a mage, and probably a Nord. Hadvar managed to find a few septims, a dagger, and a satchel on the dead man.

He looked back at the High Elf, who was watching his activities with a look of obvious disgust.

“You want any of this?” Hadvar asked, deciding that now wasn’t the time to be scrupulous. He was still hoping to get the High Elf into something more protective than the dirty rags that she was wearing.

She shirked away, eyes still on the corpse.

Hadvar sighed and looked back at the deceased mage. He decided to leave the dagger where it was – it was beginning to dawn on him that the Elf probably wouldn’t know what to do with such a weapon even if she were willing to accept it – but the soldier still elected to wrestle the satchel off of the man’s body.

After shooting the High Elf a quick once-over, Hadvar untied the man’s hood too.

He emerged from the cage and advanced upon the Elf, who didn’t move even as she kept her eyes on the floor. “At least take these,” he pressed, offering the items to the wary mer. She looked at him fleetingly before dropping her eyes to the goods he was offering. The High Elf took the satchel, but left Hadvar with the hood.

“That hair of yours is going to be trouble,” Hadvar warned, storing the hood away.

From across the room the torturer piped up. “I can’t say that I’ve seen hair so long in my entire life,” he commented dryly. Then his tone turned sadistic. “Think of all the things you could do to a prisoner who is so easy to keep a hold of.”

His comment only served to make the Elf look even more disgusted. She moved away from Hadvar, and the soldier sighed, once again pushing down his irritation at the old man.

They couldn’t waste any more time here.

Hadvar turned his thoughts to escaping. They couldn’t wait around for Stormcloaks to follow them or for the dragon to break through the keep’s walls. There had to be some way out.

Then a thought struck him.

He turned to the torturer. “You said that these Stormcloaks were escaped prisoners?”

“Of course they were,” the old man snapped condescendingly. “They came from the cells down the hall over there.”

Hadvar turned towards the narrow hall on the far side of the room. He eyebrows furrowed in curiosity as he moved to inspect the short, dark opening.

“There’s no way out that way, you know,” the torturer called out exasperatedly from behind him.

Hadvar walked down the hall, inspecting the cells that lined it on either side. Every single one remained closed and locked.

The other side opened up to a dimly lit room. Two shallow basins of coals provided the only light, but the fires inside had already gone out. Instead, the heated embers glittered and glowed, casting long shadows on the mossy walls.

At first glance, the room seemed to have been abandoned. The majority of the eerie shadows came from the small, curved cages in various states of disrepair. One of them held a Stormcloak corpse, and some held skeletons, but many were rusted and strewn about the floor.

Hadvar hadn’t been privy to everything that the Imperial Legion had done during its short time occupying Helgen, but it was clear that this extra space hadn’t been needed for some time. It didn’t look to have been so much as cleaned since they had arrived.

Although, that made sense, seeing as the ambush of Ulfric and his men hadn’t been intended to stick the Legion with prisoners.

The soldier wandered around the corner and to the back of the room.

His skin crawled from a sudden chill in the air before the scene before him registered in his mind. A gaping hole had broken through the back wall of the keep’s dungeon. On the other side was an enormous, glittering cavern that smelled of rot and stagnant water.

The soldier almost laughed. It seemed that the Stormcloaks had a plan after all.

Hadvar looked back at the High Elf, whose incredulous look was fixed squarely on the dim cave before them.

“Better down there than out here,” he pointed out gamely.


	3. Chapter 3

Hadvar led the way into the cave.

The path before them was relatively narrow, with an uneven surface of pebbles and smooth stones. It descended through the earth, leaving the man and the mer in complete darkness.

Spattered along the path were more of the wide metal basins that they had seen in the dungeon. Unlike the one in the keep, the coals inside were brightly lit. Their fires tried valiantly to fight off the absolute blackness of the cave around them.

Hadvar could hear the Elf keeping close. She had kept her distance before, but even with the occasional firelight, it was still too dim for either of them to see more than a few feet ahead. They moved quickly along the path.

Eventually the narrow cave began to widen, ending in an opening that was brightly lit from the other side.

Warily, Hadvar slowed his footsteps as they neared the exit.

He heard voices.

“Where in Oblivion are we supposed to go?” A voice cried. “Where’s the way out?”

“Just give me a minute,” another man snapped, his voice tight. “Let me think.”

Hadvar crept up to the mouth of the cave. It opened into a gigantic, open cavern lit not only by fiery coals, but from the dappled natural light from above. Each of the basins sat along the edge of a path that spanned along the circumference of the room. Below it was a smaller circle of mossy rocks, split by a small stream that was fed by the waterfall against the wall.

The place was absolutely crawling with Stormcloaks.

Because of the waterfall, a thick fog made it impossible to see all the way to the other side of the cavern. Hadvar was able to spot the two men who had been speaking standing together with a blonde woman. All three Stormcloaks stood in the lower portion of the room, beside the stream.

He drew his bow.

As he pulled his string taught and took aim, the Imperial soldier formulated a plan. He needed to kill at least two of the Stormcloaks before they reached him. If it was possible, he didn’t want to be outnumbered in close combat.

Hadvar released the arrow, sending it flying directly into the back of the man who was facing away from him.

The Stormcloak grunted, visibly stiffening, and his companions looked at him in shock. While they hesitated, Hadvar fired off another arrow. It lodged itself beside the first, sending the man crumpling to the ground.

Now, both Stormcloaks looked towards the source of the arrows. Hadvar considered trying his luck at staying in the shadows, but as soon as one of the rebels moved to investigate he drew his bow and took aim.

Just as he was about to fire, Hadvar was forced to hesitate. The High Elf behind him darted into his line of sight. In an effort to evade the Stormcloaks, she ran past him and into the cavern before he could do anything.

As soon as she was out of the way, Hadvar resigned himself and hurriedly released his arrow at the rapidly advancing Stormcloaks.

He caught the man in the shoulder just as they came up the stairs. While he stumbled, the woman leapt forward, raising her greatsword overhead for a powerful strike.

Hadvar rolled sideways into the cavern, looking back in time to see a spray of pebbles explode from the impact of the heavy weapon on stone. He stored his bow and pulled out his shield as the Stormcloak recovered and turned towards him.

When she repeated the attack on the crouching Imperial soldier, he blocked it with his shield. The strike left him rattled, but while the blonde loomed over him in the aftermath he took the opportunity to jam his shield into her exposed throat.

The Stormcloak reeled backwards, dropping her greatsword as she brought both hands up to grasp her neck.

Hadvar stood, drawing his sword. He struck out with the intent of finishing her off, but found that his attack was blocked by the battleaxe of the other Stormcloak. It slammed into the stone between Hadvar and his target. The Imperial soldier locked eyes with the injured man, who snarled.

He tried to slash with his sword, but the Stormcloak dislodged his own weapon and used its long handle to parry the hit.

Eager to get back to his other opponent, Hadvar tried a flurry of attacks from different angles. The other man anticipated each hit and blocked every blow.

Hadvar feigned an overhead swing. The Stormcloak immediately raised his weapon to block, putting both arms up and leaving his torso exposed. Without completing the attack, Hadvar shifted and ducked, shoulder first, at the arrow still embedded in the man’s arm.

He jarred the arrow that was lodged deep into the other man’s muscle, ripping and twisting it through the flesh of his arm. The Stormcloak howled in pain and dropped his battleaxe.

Having pushed the man aside, Hadvar shifted his grip on his sword as he stood behind the incapacitated man. He plunged the blade through the man’s back, forcing it up and out of his chest on the other side.

Just as he pulled his sword out, Hadvar was bashed from the side.

The hit knocked him off balance, and the Imperial soldier felt his sword slip out of his hands as he stumbled backwards. He heard the metal skid along the stone floor.

It seemed that the female Stormcloak had recovered.

Luckily, Hadvar still had his shield, and he put it in front of him more as an act of muscle memory than coherent thought. His head was still ringing.

He crouched as the woman covered the distance between them with a familiar overhead swing. As her greatsword crashed into his shield, Hadvar grunted, feeling the impact shake his bruised body.

Hadvar focused and sprung away from the Stormcloak, thrusting the heavy weapon off of his shield. He wanted to retrieve his fallen sword, but the Stormcloak advanced upon him so quickly that he could do nothing but put his shield up again.

When the woman pulled back her weapon to attack, Hadvar sprung up, bashing her in the face with his shield. Her head snapped back from the impact. The Imperial remembered the injury to her neck and decided to take a chance on another attack. He stood and repeated the bashing move, landing a solid hit that sent the dazed woman sprawling onto the stone floor.

Before she could get up, Hadvar slammed his shield down, smashing her head into the unforgiving stone. He began to heave the shield back before reconsidering and bashing the broad surface into the unmoving Stormcloak again.

Once he was sure than the Stormcloak wasn’t going to be getting up, Hadvar immediately turned his attention to looking for his fallen sword.

Instead, he caught sight of the High Elf across the room, dodging the advances of yet another Stormcloak soldier. She doing an admirable job of working her way back towards Hadvar while avoiding her pursuer’s attacks. The floor beneath her was shiny with spilled oil, yet the sliding that plagued the Stormcloak did not seem to affect the deftly moving mer.

She had managed to stall long enough that they were well with Hadvar’s firing range.

He readied his bow and took aim. Unfortunately, Hadvar found that it was nearly impossible to line up a shot that wouldn’t hit the High Elf. She was constantly weaving in and out of the way, moving so unpredictably that Hadvar was forced to hesitate.

If her back wasn’t to him, she would know to move out of the way. As it was, he didn’t want to risk drawing her attention away from the pursuing Stormcloak.

But then the worst possible scenario played out before him.

As the Elf finally turned away to run from the Stormcloak, her long hair swung out behind her. The man easily reached out and grabbed a fistful of the thin strands. He yanked her back, and with a jolt the High Elf’s feet slipped from underneath her on the slippery, oiled floor. His opportunity finally came. As the Elf finally turned away from the Stormcloak, he reached out and grabbed a fistful of her long hair, yanking her back towards him.

When she fell backwards, her hair slipped out of the Nord’s hands – though it was possible that he simply let her fall – and the Elf’s head smacked into the hard stones below. Hadvar winced as the thud echoed through the suddenly empty cavern.

But before the Stormcloak could do anything else, the Imperial soldier focused released the arrow that he had held at the ready for so long. It embedded itself directly into the offending Stormcloak’s head, and Hadvar lowered his bow as the man’s eyes rolled backwards before he fell to the ground.

Hadvar rushed to the mer’s side.

The Imperial soldier crouched and looked over the High Elf. He was grateful that both her and the Stormcloak had managed to get clear of the oil spilled at the furthest end of the room. Her hair had fallen over her face, so he lifted it out of the way as he cradled her head, checking for blood.

His jostling was enough to stir her back into consciousness.

“You okay?” Hadvar asked, looking steadily into her half lidded eyes.

For a moment, the Elf made no move to respond. Her eyes fluttered after a few seconds, then clenched tightly closed. He thought that he heard a light, soft groan, but wasn’t sure.

There wasn’t any blood that he could find, but the High Elf was going to bruise at the very least. Soldiers who had taken a hard hit to their helmets sometimes blacked out or stumbled around in confusion afterwards, and even the ones who got off light usually complained about having a headache. But if there wasn’t any blood, then the men weren’t going to die.

“Come on,” he urged, forcing himself to keep his voice soft, “we’ve got to keep moving.”

As if punctuating his comment, Hadvar felt a gust of air whiz by his head. In a moment, the Imperial soldier was back on his feet with his bow drawn, looking for the source of the arrow that had missed him.

Now that he was closer to the other side of the room, Hadvar could see through the fog that had obscured the exit. A Stormcloak archer was standing right in front of the place where the cave narrowed into another hall.

It wouldn’t take more than a shot or two to dispatch the archer, but Hadvar didn’t want to risk either him of the Elf getting shot in the meantime. He was sure that he was a better shot than the other man but aiming for his body didn’t necessarily mean that the Stormcloak was going to be immediately incapacitated. The distance between them made attempting a headshot out of the question.

So Hadvar came up with an alternate plan.

The gong of his arrow hitting metal echoed throughout the cavern. Across the room, the container of lit coals that had been balanced on the wooden fence between the walkway and the basin tipped on its side and spilled across the floor. Hadvar watched impassively as the fire immediately lit the oil that coated the stones. The entire areas burst into flames, and the Stormcloak shrieked as he failed, trying to escape the inferno.

It didn’t take long for the fire to die down, but by that point the other man had already sunk to the floor.

Hadvar put his bow away and returned his attention to the High Elf, who finally seemed to be coming to. Her eyes were staying open, if only slightly.

The soldier knelt by her side again. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

The mer’s face was contorted in pain. Without looking for him, she began to prop herself up on shaking arms, but the process was slow.

Hadvar spared her some sympathy. “I know it hurts,” he admitted, standing back up. He turned to go retrieve his sword from where it had fallen a few yards away.

“If you have a health potion, take it. But we still have to get going.”

The soldier returned to find that the Elf had raised herself and pulled her knees to her chest. He decided to give her space while she regained her footing. Still, it took longer than he would have liked for the High Elf to stand back up.

She looked confused and unsteady. Hadvar frowned. “Keep close,” he decided, turning away towards the exit.

The pair walked slowly now, going past the badly burned body of the Stormcloak archer and making it to the door. When they reached it, the Elf suddenly stopped.

Hadvar looked to his side to see the High Elf looking ahead, her wide eyes fixed on some point that he couldn’t determine. She gripped the mouth of the cave opening so tightly that the color drained from her knuckles.

“What – oh, gods,” Hadvar stopped when the Elf slapped her other hand over her mouth and pitched forward violently. He heard her retch.

That head injury of hers wasn’t going to improve by standing in air that stank of charred human flesh. She retched again, but her stomach must have been empty because the Elf did not remove her hand from her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Hadvar said gently, “but keep moving. It’ll get better.”

At this point, the Elf’s wide eyes snapped to the Imperial soldier and narrowed ever so slightly. He was almost amused by how clearly her half-covered expression conveyed the mer’s disbelief.

If she was determined enough to meet his eyes and emote, then the Elf could find it in herself to keep moving. Hadvar turned away and started walking slowly forward, listening for the unsteady rhythm of the High Elf’s footsteps and the soft sound of her palm as it slid along the stone wall.

They walked up a short staircase and through another dark hall before being faced with a raised drawbridge and a lever.

Hadvar pulled the lever back and the bridge fell to fill the gap before them. Gaps in the rocks above them allowed light to filter in from the ceiling, lighting the wooden planks.

He stepped back and waited for the Elf to cross first. She went slowly, unsteadily, but eventually made it to the other side and supported herself against the far wall.

The soldier followed close behind. He was almost off of the bridge when and incredible roar shook the cavern around them. The High Elf clenched her eyes shut and leaned on the wall while Hadvar stumbled off of the bridge just as the roof caved in.

A spray of dust and pebbled burst out in a cloud, sending both of them into coughing fits. He heard the Elf’s ragged throat over his own.

Once visibility returned, the bridge was nothing more than stones and splinters.

“Damn it,” Hadvar cursed, looking at the mess as his coughing came to an end. “No going back that way.”

The Elf glanced towards him as her coughing puttered out.

He caught her look and scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “I guess we’re lucky it didn’t come down on top of us,” the man admitted. Then he straightened and turned to continue down the hall. “We’d better push on.”

They walked in silence until they found themselves standing at the top of another massive cavern. It overlooked a relatively large waterfall that pouring from the high ceiling all the way down to the rocks below. The stream that it fed flowed out of the room.

From above, the natural light made it easier for the pair to pick their way down the slippery stone staircase.

They followed the stream out of the cavern and down a darkened hall.

It didn’t take long for them to pass by a dry path that turned sharply right. Hadvar briefly considered following it, but a skeleton was propped up against the basin of lit coals that illuminated the beginning of the trail.

They followed the water for another seconds or so, but eventually it became clear that the stream flowed underneath the cave wall.

Hadvar narrowed his eyes at the offending stone. “That doesn’t go anywhere.” He turned to the Elf, who was looking reluctantly back at the side path and the skeleton that guarded it. Her eyes still seemed a little glazed as they stared at the firelight.

The soldier sighed and turned around. “I guess we’d better try this way.”

To his surprise the trail quickly gave way was a short, steep decline. It was more well lit than the previous few caverns that they had been through, and the dirt they walked on was smooth and well packed.

Hadvar stopped short once the mouth of the cave was in sight.

He couldn’t see the majority of the adjoining cavern – the opening was down the steep decline – but he didn’t have to. The ring of stone at the end of the path was entirely encrusted with spider webs. Each of the light, sticky strands were crisscrossed over others, and the whole mass was illuminated with an eerie glow from inside of the cavern beyond. Hadvar reasoned that there must a large hole where natural light was coming down from the ceiling.

It would explain why this part of the cave was infested.

The soldier sighed heavily and drew his bow, walking in front of the High Elf.

He crept towards the mouth of the cave as slowly as possible. His boots stuck slightly to the soft, sticky surface of the webs on the floor.

Every surface of the cavern was blanketed with layers and layers of webbing. There were sacs strewn about of all shapes and sizes: large, broken egg sacs were clumped together while smaller ones hung down from the ceiling or were scattered across the floor. The soldier shuddered.

He counted three medium sized frostbite spiders milling around in his line of sight. Hadvar took a breath and held it, firing off three arrows in rapid succession at the easy targets. All three of the spiders curled up and died before they could get near the soldier or his companion.

Hadvar entered the cavern warily. He kept his eyes on the ceiling, searching for the additional spiders that he knew were waiting in their webs. A cavern so completely coated was going to be home to more than just a few frostbite spiders.

Two more spiders, both much bigger than the few that Hadvar had managed to take out before entering the room, repelled down from the ceiling in front of him. The soldier immediately raised his bow, frantically shooting arrows into the closer of the two.

He watched at the frostbite spider’s web snapped. The giant arachnid fell to the ground on its back, curling its long legs towards its belly.

On his right, the other spider managed to descend to the ground successfully. As it advanced, Hadvar backed away, storing his bow away and pulling out his sword.

The massive creature was still a good distance away when it lunged towards the Imperial soldier. Hadvar ran a few steps forward as the frostbite spider leapt, but ducked once he neared the soaring arachnid. He raised his sword when it was above his prone form and sunk the blade into its abdomen, splitting the sac as the monster went overhead.

Its body landed at the High Elf’s feet.

Hadvar stood and looked at the terrified Elf with an impish grin. “That’s the end of that,” he commented proudly, sheathing his sword at his side with a clank.

He crossed to the exit at the other side of the room before turning back to the mer. The High Elf’s skin was rapidly paling as she continued to stare at the hairy, disgusting creature at her feet.

“I know,” Hadvar chuckled, trying to convince the Elf to stay calm. “What’s next, giant snakes?”

She looked at him with wide eyes.

The soldier’s eyebrows furrowed. “No, I meant – sorry, no. There’s no giant snakes. Come on.”

The Elf looked wholly unamused, but finally moved towards the Nord.

He waited for her reach him before turning away. The path out was a sharp decline, made smooth by the blanket of spider webs that covered the dirt below. Hadvar went down first, going carefully, before turning to wait for the High Elf. She was far more unsteady, but both of them reached the dirt path below with no incident.

The way led to yet another cavern, one that was so long that there was no way to see all the way to the other side. A waterfall fell from the rock face to their left and fed a stream that flowed underneath the rocky path that the pair stood on. Hadvar crossed to the other side of the stream and led the way forward.

It was quiet, save for the roar of the waterfall.

As they passed a stone pillar, Hadvar suddenly stopped and dropped into a crouch. The High Elf behind him caught up and looked down at him inquisitively.

He tilted his head towards her but kept his gaze fixed ahead. “There’s a bear ahead,” he whispered. “See her?”

Hadvar waited for the Elf to look, and wasn’t surprised when she copied his stance. The hulking form of the beast lay far across the room, in a slight alcove that was lit by the dim light filtering down from above. It looked like it was sleeping.

“I’d rather not tangle with her right now,” the soldier admitted tiredly. After everything that they had faced, he was more than willing to avoid another fight. “We might be able to sneak by. Just take it nice and slow,” he advised.

They crept forward along the wall, keeping as far from the sleeping bear as possible. As they got closer, Hadvar was able to see the various bones – some pieces too large and too familiar to be anything but human – that littered the den.

Hadvar was actually encouraged by the sight of the bear. If she was able to make her home here, then it wasn’t going to be too much further until they were finally outside.

It only took a minute for the pair to move silently past the sleeping bear. They stood in the next section of the cave, which was a much smaller cavern than the ones that they had seen before. Dim light streamed down on them, and Hadvar could finally smell fresh air. On the ridge above, he spotted the bright green leaves of plants that had made their home in the rocky soil.

He couldn’t help but to feel excited. The soldier jogged the rest of the way down the gentle slope before them, and only stopped once he reached the final basin of coals below. The fire inside had long since been blown out.

Hadvar turned and could see a split in the cave wall. Fresh air rushed through, carrying the familiar hum of insects overlaid by the occasional twittering of birds.

Part of him wanted to collapse right then and there, but instead he turned to the High Elf who was just catching up to him. “This looks like the way out!” he claimed excitedly. “I was starting to wonder if we were ever going to make it.”

The Elf didn’t look like she quite believed it either. She was staring past him, her bruised and battered figure wilted even as a bit of relief crossed her expression. More than anything, the Elf simply looked tired.

Finally, the two were able to escape out into the evening air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm glad that people seem to be enjoying my story - I am very excited to write it and share it with you all. Thank you for your comments, kudos, and bookmarks.


	4. Chapter 4

The pair stumbled, dizzy with exhaustion and relief, into the outside world.

Above them loomed a wide expanse of white that seemed to fill half of the sky. It blanketed the world below with a soft radiance. The smooth, weathered faces of the massive boulders scattered around them glowed luminous in the gentle light. It seemed that the leaves of the few plants that had made their home in the rocky soil were cobalt blue, their rich green tones washed out by the moon. Around the mouth of the cave, the sprinkling of snow from higher up the mountain sparkled in the moonlight.

Hadvar could feel the adrenaline that was still pumping through his muscles, making his arms tense and stiff as he bent over to grasp he knees. He panted like a dog, taking huge gulps of the cool mountain air. The delayed sense of panic that had driven him abated, leaving him feeling exhausted and drained. At this high up, the thin air came out of his mouth in puffs, and the sweat that had stuck to his skin felt like it had been turned into ice.

From high above them, the distant sound of a roar shook the heavens and made Hadvar groan weakly.

He looked wearily, straining his eyes as he peered up towards the sound. The jagged outline of the dragon blotted out the stars as it soared across the sky.

“Wait,” Hadvar croaked, surprised by how dry his throat was. He might have been speaking to the dragon, or the Elf behind him, or to himself – he hadn’t thought about it yet, but the soldier nonetheless sidestepped to crouch behind a nearby bush. Vaguely, he heard the crunching of snow and the sudden, close presence of the High Elf as she followed his lead.

Absolute blackness, in the form of the dragon’s shadow, passed over the ground and washed over them.

Every creature seemed to go silent when another triumphant roar, much closer this time, shook the air.

But in a moment, it was over.

The dragon continued on, its flight as smooth and straight as an arrow, its menacing features striking against the majesty of the moon.

Hadvar straightened, focusing on calming his heavy breathing and anxious heartbeat. It seemed that the worst of the danger was finally past.

Around them, the forested area seemed to come to life. For the first time, Hadvar took notice of the returning sounds of the night: the excited cacophony of chirping crickets, the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze, the occasional hoot or growl or cry.

His heart picked back up too, slamming urgently in his ears.

The Imperial soldier straightened, focusing on calming his heavy breathing and anxious heartbeat. It took longer than he would have liked, but Hadvar eventually collected himself and turned around.

Behind him, the mer collapsed from her crouching form and supported herself on her hands and knees. The long, dirty strands of her hair formed a veil that concealed her face as her head bent towards the ground. Her trembling had returned in full force, and her thin, battered arms shook unsteadily as they tried to hold her up.

Hadvar felt heavy.

The soldier cast his eyes towards the sky. “Looks like he’s gone for good this time.”

Hiccup.

Hadvar looked back down at the Elf, his grim expression softening into one of concern.

Her entire body convulsed once, twice, shaking violently as she kneeled, barely holding herself up. Eventually the hiccups that interrupted her breathing increased as she choked wetly. The soldier watched as her long, thin fingers splayed in the hard dirt. As her breathing became more uneven, they clenched, drawing thin lines in the earth as they tried to clutch at the ground.

He heard her attempt a ragged, unsteady breath, only to be choked off by a gurgle.

The High Elf began to sob. Compared to the natural din around them, her sobs weren’t very loud, and could have been mistaken for soft groans had the broken noises not been split by intermittent gasps.

But they were getting louder. Her arms gave out beneath her as the Elf cried out in a long, keening wail.

Hadvar cast his eyes away.

It took another minute of listening to the hysterical mer before the soldier forced himself to face her crumpled form. He stared at her – she was curled in upon herself, so small against the world around her.

He started to reach out – to console her, to reassure her, to get her back on her feet – before thinking better of it. Hadvar’s arm fell helplessly back to his side.

He bit the inside of his cheek and looked around the darkened mountain around them, waiting for the Elf’s moment to pass. Maybe he didn’t understand everything, but he was equipped to withstand the dual waves of exhaustion and terror that tried to eat away at him. He had to focus. Gods willing, the worst of it was over. All that there was left to do was to get off this mountain.

It didn’t take long for the mer to wear herself out. Her plaintive cries gave way to the choking and sobbing that had rocked her body earlier, but at least the Elf had quieted.

Hadvar looked down at her. Though her face was still hidden, the Elf slid back onto her haunches, head bowed as her folded her dirty hands in her lap. Her torso rocked back and forth, rhythmically rather than unsteadily, but he could still see her jolting from uncontrolled hiccups in her breathing.

It was clear that if he didn’t see her off this mountain, the Elf wasn’t coming down at all.

Hadvar sighed, looking up at the sky as he ran a hand through his hair. “Closest town from here is Riverwood,” he said to the stars. “My uncle’s the blacksmith there. If you need somewhere to go, I’m sure that he’d be willing to help you out for the night.” He looked back down at the frozen mer. “But I’m not going to stick around here.”

There was something about the absolute stillness of the Elf, the way that she reigned in her grief, that made Hadvar uncomfortable. She didn’t move to acknowledge his words or accept his offer.

For the first time, Hadvar narrowed his eyes at the mer. He studied her with something caught between apprehension and curiosity. Who was he trying to bring into his family’s home? How had this High Elf gotten into a cart full of Stormcloak prisoners? The Imperial soldier in him knew the facts and concluded that it was unlikely that she was capable of hurting someone even if she wanted to. But he wasn’t completely sure that he could trust the Altmer.

But then, no one in Skyrim really trusted High Elves – but this one was something completely different than what he had come to expect. She was cowed. Broken.

Did that mean harmless?

Hadvar was jolted from his thoughts as the scuffling of dirt told him that the mer was trying to stand. She pushed herself up slowly, painstakingly, saying nothing and keeping her eyes trained on the ground.

He allowed her the dignity of his silence. Instead, the soldier turned around and looked down the mountain. 

There was something of a path before them, but it was little more than a line of worn down dirt that wove its way through the stones and hardy plants. He had an idea of where the path might lead, but there was nothing else to do but walk. Without turning around, Hadvar moved to begin their journey, listening for the mer behind him to fall in step.

After a moment, he heard the scuffle of the High Elf’s too-big Imperial boots on the trail.

As they walked along the path, Hadvar forced himself to stay focused and alert. The exhaustion that he has spent so long fighting off was slowly settling in. Above them, the moon in the sky had reached its fullest height. It was already late, but it would be at least an hour, by his judgement, before either of them were going to be able to get any sleep.

Large boulders, likely those that had been dislodged and rolled from the mountain, lined the way on either side of the winding path. When they neared one that had toppled in such a way that it had created a small, dark overhang, a rabbit darted out. Hadvar heard a squeak of surprise. For a moment, he was sure that the sound had come from the rabbit, but the startled scuffling of the dirt behind him made it clear that it had not.

Hadvar pursed his lips to keep himself from scoffing.

He waited for the rabbit to disappear into the underbrush on the other side of the path before continuing on.

And indeed, as they continued on the path, the sparse, hardy underbrush around them quickly became dense and turned their surroundings green. Trees soon towered above them, and soft ferns brushed their calves as they passed. The dirt underfoot turned dark and soft. Branches began to clutter the way, and the boulders shrank into pebbles.

Hadvar estimated that it had taken about half an hour – maybe forty-five minutes, since his normally brisk pace had been slowed by the High Elf and his own exhaustion – before the path finally gave way to a road. They were much further down the mountain by that point. The air wasn’t as thin, now, and the way wasn’t as steep.

He checked the sign that stood at the intersection.

The Nord was grateful to see that they were going the right way. On the post, the signs that pointed towards Helgen and Falkreath directed them back around the mountain. Riverwood was ahead.

Unlike the dirt path, the road to Riverwood was much wider and lined with smooth, flat stones. Hadvar knew that it wasn’t the most well maintained road in Skyrim, and the pair were more careful when stepping over the places where the stones were broken or missing altogether. Even so, the road was more than enough to mark the way, and the pair followed it until they emerged from the forest to find themselves high up on a hillside. Below, the road zigzagged its way down the hill before evening out along a cliffside.

Hadvar took in the scenery from their vantage point.

The White River ran between Bleak Falls Barrow and Riverwood. From so high up, he could see its source, Lake Ininalta, to the south in Falkreath hold. It carved something of a canyon between the mountain that they were descending from and its neighbor. Nestled in the snowy peaks across from them was the dark, smooth stone of Bleak Falls Barrow. Even from so far away and covered in stone, the intricate designs of the massive ruins were still an eerie sight.

On their side of the river were the Standing Stones. The trio rose above a smooth stone dais just off the roadside below them, situated at the edge of the cliff and above the White River.

Hadvar led their final descent in silence, eagerly working out how much longer it would be until they reached Riverwood from where they were now. It couldn’t be much more than an hour. As exhausted as he was, the prospect of ending the night in a warm house was tempting enough to spur Hadvar on.

The cliffside that they found themselves walking along overlooked the roaring river. Below them, it crashed over waves of jagged boulders, creating little waterfalls as it came down from the lake above it. The mist that filled the air was refreshing on Hadvar’s skin. He had long since adjusted to the cool air, and was sweating from their journey down the mountain.

“We’re almost there,” Hadvar commented offhandedly as he slowed their pace. From here, the path was more of a gentle slope down, and he knew that it would end up meeting the banks of the White River as the raging waters slowed.

As they walked, the Nord could feel himself becoming continually less alert. He had to constantly catch himself and refocus, returning his attention to the surrounding area as they walked. While the river was on their left, the gentle slopes of the hill rose above them on the right, and from it came the restless chattering and calls of the forest.

The mountainside was far away now, its gray peak rising above the greenery and hidden by fog and darkness. 

Hadvar focused on the path ahead of them, but the journey was relatively uneventful as the waters of the White River slowed beside them. The moonlight shone off of its gentle ripples and made the dark water sparkle. It lapped gently on the shore.

The Imperial soldier focused on the rhythm of his footsteps and the slow, even drawls of his breathing. It was all he could do not to close his eyes.

“AIIIIEEEEK!”

Hadvar jumped when the shrill, ugly noise split the night and snapped him back to attention.

He whirled and saw the High Elf, who had lagged behind him by several more yards than he had expected. The mer stared with wide eyes at the hillside beside her. A shadow jumped out from the underbrush and lunged towards her face. She raised her arms lethargically, more out of instinct than as a purposeful action, and when the beast’s jaws clamped down on her arm she screamed again.

The realization of what was going on hit Hadvar belatedly. Wolves were not an uncommon sight in Skyrim, but he was usually able to recognize their snarls and howls from a mile away. He cursed under his breath and drew his sword.

At this point, the High Elf’s limb was flailing as the wolf writhed, the entire skinny width of her arm in its mouth. Hadvar caught the glint of its pearlescent fangs in the light of the moon as the wolf tried to drag the mer to the ground. Dark blood was oozing out from around its sharp teeth.

Just as the Elf stumbled, Hadvar reached them. He struck out with his foot rather than his sword to dislodge the wolf. He kicked the beast with as much force as he could muster, and it yelped pitifully as it was ripped from the mer’s arm and tossed backwards onto the stone road below. The soldier dove after the canine, and before it could right itself he was grabbing it by its muzzle and wrenching its head up.

He slashed the beast across the throat and dropped the dying animal’s head back onto the ground.

“Argh!” Another wolf came from behind and bit Hadvar on the leg while he was distracted.

He shook it off, ignoring the feel of its teeth shredding the skin behind his knee. The beast hadn’t bitten down too deeply, having put the top of his boot into its mouth, but it was enough to punish him for not paying attention.

The wolf that had bitten him recovered easily after being shaken off. It snarled savagely as it dodged his sloppy kick of retaliation. Hadvar tried to keep an eye on it as it backed away and tried to circle around him, but a third wolf appeared out of the corner of his eye and leapt directly for his face.

Heart pounding, Hadvar reacted to the surprise attack as quickly as he could. He raised his sword and used its broad side to block the wolf’s snapping jaws. The canine fell harmlessly in front of him, but before it could double back, the soldier flipped his sword over and plunged it straight down. He embedded the metal in the wolf’s skull, killing the creature almost instantly.

By this point, the wolf that had bitten Hadvar’s leg finally attacked, lunging for his back. He grunted as its full weight slammed into him, but his armor did its job and the canine’s claws scrambled for purchase before sliding off.

However, its attack had thrown the soldier off balance and away from his sword.

The Imperial soldier turned, grinding his teeth in irritation as he faced the remaining wolf. It snarled and snapped at the air, its ears flat against its head as it resumed circling.

Hadvar turned slowly, watching the canine steadily as he retrieved his shield from where it was strapped to his back. The soldier held it loosely at his side, leaving his guard open.

Eventually the wolf loped around and pounced.

The Nord was ready for it and swung his shield at the beast in midair, catching it in the neck with a satisfying crack.

It was tossed limply to the side, rolling in a mass of fur before lying still on the ground.

Hadvar grunted as he stored his shield away. His demeanor was dark with frustration as he stalked over to his sword and dropped it into its sheath with a loud clank.

“That’s the end of that,” he huffed, too exhausted to stir up any true anger. The soldier turned back towards Riverwood, ignoring both the High Elf’s fresh wound and his own.

They continued in silence, walking along the road as it leveled out along the banks of the White River. Now on even ground, the water flowed at a leisurely pace and lapped at the grassy banks beside them. 

Finally, they came around the last bend in the road, and Riverwood came into sight.

Hadvar saw the mill first. It stuck out from the rest of the town, situated right in the middle of the river whose steady flow powered its water wheel. 

The gaps in the stone road disappeared as they came closer, and piles of smooth rock made up the small walls that rose up and guided them towards the town gate. Part of Hadvar wanted to collapse as they passed under the stone archway that marked the entrance to the town.

He silently thanked every divine that he could think of for the fact that his uncle’s home was one of the buildings near the gate. The smooth, time weathered wooden planks of its walls were a welcome sight.

To his surprise, his uncle was outside. He stood underneath of the thatched roof, standing on the porch beside his darkened forge.

“Uncle Alvor!” Hadvar called, forcing himself to sound congenial. “Hello!”

Alvor looked up, obviously startled by the sudden greeting so late at night. The older Nord squinted through the darkness at the approaching figures.

“Hadvar?” he called out in disbelief. “And to think that I was just out to check on the forge.” The blacksmith put whatever tool he was holding down and walked to the edge of the wooden porch, trying to get a better view.

As the duo came closer, Alvor came out to meet them in the road.

“Are you on leave from…” he began, curiosity evident in his voice, but as he came nearer the blacksmith’s eyes widened. “Shor’s bones, what happened to you boy?”

His nephew looked like he had been to Oblivion and back. On instinct, the first thing that Alvor took note of was his armor: the fabric was singed or torn off at the seams, and the areas of chainlink mesh were warped. In the dark, he couldn’t tell what kind of substances had stained the leather, but the variety of dark and light splotches made the older Nord’s eyebrows furrow in confusion.

Hadvar waited dutifully as his uncle took stock of his battered form. Then he watched as the older man’s eyes flickered to a spot just over his shoulder.

Alvor looked back at his nephew, his face tight with suspicion. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“Shh,” Hadvar hushed, trying to reassure his relative before he jumped to any conclusions. “Uncle please. Keep your voice down.” He didn’t want to risk his uncle getting agitated and waking up the whole town with his questions. “I’m fine.”

The older Nord glanced over Hadvar’s shoulder again, his expression remaining steadfastly unconvinced. He crossed his arms and looked back at his nephew, the very picture of intimidation.

Hadvar did not bother to tell his uncle that it wouldn’t take much to intimidate this particular Elf.

“We should go inside to talk,” he insisted, trying to convince Alvor that there was nothing to worry about – or at least that it wasn’t what he thought.

His uncle didn’t budge. “What’s going on?” he demanded. This time, he looked pointedly at the figure standing behind his nephew. “And who’s this?”

“She’s,” the younger man hesitated. “A friend. Come on, I’ll explain everything, but we need to go inside.”

Alvor finally relented, uncrossing his arms with a sigh. “A friend of yours then?” he confirmed, his gruff tone thick with disbelief. He looked at his nephew blandly, then shook his head. “Come on, then. I’ll wake Sigrid to get you something to eat, and you can tell us what happened.”

Hadvar smiled disarmingly. His uncle took in his expression impassively, then turned away with a sigh.

As his uncle walked back towards the house, Hadvar turned towards the High Elf standing behind him. Her eyes were looking after Alvor, but they were overtaken with a glaze of exhaustion that hovered over her fear. For the first time, he took notice of her injured arm. She was cradling it, holding it close to her chest with her uninjured hand. It covered the puncture wounds, but the dark blood oozed out from between her fingers.

“Come on,” he whispered encouragingly. “Uncle Alvor is family. He’s going to help.”

The Elf wrenched her eyes away to look at Hadvar, but the gaze lasted only fleetingly before being redirected towards the ground. She shuffled uncomfortably. When he said nothing further, the mer went to follow his Uncle. He fell in step behind her.

Hadvar was the last one into the home, and he closed the door behind him. His Uncle called out just as he was checking to make sure that it had locked.

“Sigrid!” Alvor bellowed. “We have company!”

Alvor’s announcement succeeded in rousing not only his wife, but his daughter, Dorthe, who was sleeping in the other bed at the far corner of the room. The young girl stirred and sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

Sigrid rose much more quickly than her daughter. The woman hauled herself out of bed blearily, sitting up and throwing her legs over the side. She stifled a yawn.

As Alvor went to light the fire in the hearth, his wife stood and walked around the bed towards their company.

“Hadvar!” Sigrid greeted, surprise erasing all traces of grogginess from her voice. “We’ve been worried about you!” Her eyes slid carefully over her battered nephew and the oddly dressed High Elf standing in the shadows behind him. Hadvar smiled weakly.

The woman turned her head back towards her daughter. “Dorthe, get the clean wraps and potions from the drawer.”

She quickly turned back to Hadvar and his companion. “Come on, you two must be hungry. Sit down. I’ll get you something to eat.”

Sigrid gestured towards the table and chair that Alvor was settling his large frame into. Hadvar nodded obediently and went to sit at one of the other chairs, sitting with his back to the now roaring fire. The Elf watched him go before copying him. As she moved to sit in the chair opposite him, Hadvar noticed that for the first time the mer seemed distracted. Her features reflected curiosity rather than outright fear as she looked around the traditional Nordic room.

When she sat, her gaze moved to him. He looked away from their locked eyes before even she could, avoiding the golden glow of her alien irises in the firelight.

As his wife went to heat the remnants of the meal that had been left in the cooking pot, Alvor fixed his nephew with an expectant stare. “Now then, boy. What’s the big mystery? What are you doing here, looking like you lost an argument with a cave bear?”

Hadvar resisted the urge to look himself over. It felt like the only thing that he hadn’t been forced to fight today was the cave bear at the end of the cavern.

“I don’t know where to start,” he admitted. “You know I was assigned to General Tullius’ guard. We were stationed in Helgen when it was attacked,” here the Imperial soldier hesitated. It had taken him until this moment to realize how crazy his story sounded. But there was nothing to be done for it, he reasoned. “By a dragon.”

His uncle’s bushy eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and his eyes became hard. Alvor gave his nephew another once over, looking for evidence that Hadvar’s head had been even more injured than he had assumed. But no, the dark patchwork of bruises trailed mainly on his arms, and his nephew’s face looked relatively unharmed.

“A dragon?” Alvor echoed, baffled. “That’s… ridiculous. You aren’t drunk, are you boy?”

“Husband.” Sigrid’s sudden, sharp tone bode no further discussion. She appeared at the tableside suddenly, her daughter by her side. Dorthe set two health potions and plain scraps of fabric on the table while her mother set bowls of venison stew in front of their guests. Hadvar tried to catch his younger cousin’s eye, but the little girl seemed only half awake.

Sigrid crossed her arms once the food was served. She fixed her hazel eyes upon her nephew, considering him in a catlike fashion. “Let him tell his story.”

Hadvar’s stomach growled impatiently at the scent of the hearty stew. He hadn’t realized how hungry he had been until now, but with food sitting right in front of him he was suddenly ravenous. The soldier picked up his spoon before he spoke.

“Not much more to tell,” he admitted, wanting to spare them all of the gory details. “This dragon flew over and just wrecked the whole place. Mass confusion. I don’t know if anyone else got out alive. I escaped with my friend,” here he caught himself, casting a glance at the High Elf. She was watching the hand holding his spoon expectantly as it hovered above his bowl, having not made a move towards her own food.

Hadvar shifted his focus to more important matters. “I need to get back to Solitude as soon as possible, to let them know what’s happened. I thought you could help us out. Food, supplies, a place to stay.”

“Of course!” Alvor declared gregariously.

Sigrid cut in after her husband. “Of course, Hadvar,” she confirmed passively. Her attention was fully upon the High Elf even as her nephew dug into his food. “But does this… friend of yours have a name?”

Hadvar blanched. He coughed as a mouthful of stew choked his throat and didn’t respond, instead looking at the Elf. There was no way that he could answer that since she had yet to speak to him.

The mer, who had begun to eat, carefully returned her utensil to the wooden table and looked down at her bowl.

For a moment, Hadvar was worried that she wouldn’t answer at all.

“Ehlnofey,” came the answer, the response so soft that he could barely hear it over the crackling fire. But even from the way her voice curved around the sounds of that one, unfamiliar word, Hadvar recognized the haughty tone that the Thalmor used. His wooden spoon clattered to the table.

A long, uncomfortable silence filled the room. Sigrid raised her eyebrows and looked at Alvor. Alvor’s features set as he looked at Hadvar. For his part, the stunned Imperial soldier stared at the High Elf sitting across from him. It seemed like their unspoken fear was confirmed: her accent was incredibly thick, and it sounded every bit like that of one of the Thalmor that had come to Skyrim not so long ago.

But her voice wavered so weakly on even that one word that despite his reservations, Hadvar took pity on the mer. She certainly hadn’t fought like a Thalmor.

Alvor looked pensive, but sighed when his nephew didn’t speak up. The older Nord’s expression brightened somewhat. “Well,” he announced, “any friend of Hadvar’s is a friend of mine. I’m glad to help however I can.”

Hadvar looked at his uncle, relieved. “Thank you, Uncle.”

“Well, you two better make use of those potions,” Sigrid piped up decidedly. “You sure look like you’ve fought a dragon today.”

The young soldier was already done with his stew. It had disappeared in only a few of his famished gulps, and he let his spoon clunk against the wooden bowl when he finished. “I’m probably going to head out to the river, too.” Hadvar announced. He turned to his uncle. “You have any clothes I can use tonight?”

Alvor chuckled. “Of course. Sigrid can get them for you.” His uncle looked appraisingly at the damaged armor hanging off of his nephew’s shoulders. “Looks like that armor of yours has taken a beating. Scrub it off and leave it by the forge, you hear?”

Hadvar looked sheepish, but Sigrid only turned away to retrieve an extra set of clothes. “Thank you, Uncle.”

He stood. At the sound of his chair moving back against the wooden floor, the Elf snapped her attention to him. She was only halfway through her bowl, but the mer immediately placed her spoon down again.

Hadvar looked down in surprise at the sudden, direct attention from the High Elf– Ehlnofey. For once she was looking at him straight on, her eyes wide with anxiety.

“You should get changed, too.” Hadvar offered, unsure of what to say. “Aunt Sigrid can lend you some clothes and get you set up in here.”

Ehlnofey’s gaze fluttered back down to her bowl. She said nothing.

Hadvar swiped his health potion off of the table and pocketed a few of the fabric strips. His aunt returned, carrying a set of the red shirt and tan pants that usually went on underneath her husband’s blacksmith smock. He took the clothes gratefully.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, flashing a tired smile.

His Aunt waved her hand at him and turned away. “I’ll get bed rolls set up for you two in the cellar.”

Ehlnofey quickly came to terms with the fact that sleep would not find her this night.

The stone floor of a cellar was a far cry from the soft, comfortable linens that she had left behind in the Summerset Isles. She did not deign to bury herself into the patchwork of dead animal skins that lay between her body and the cold ground. Instead, Ehlnofey lay on top of both layers of fabric, hoping for some reprieve from the unforgiving stone. All that she earned for her efforts was her skin crawling when the furs lining the inside of the bed roll tickled the back of her neck.

It was too dark to see anything other than the vaguest shapes in the cellar, but Ehlnofey was intensely aware of her own skin. She flexed her fingers and could feel the grime coating them, dirt and dust caked together by the oil that had coated the cavern floor. The mixture was jammed underneath her nails. It was a film over her skin.

But if she trailed her fingertips along the surface of her arms, Ehlnofey could feel where her usually pristine skin had been scarred. It was still pliable and soft where the bruises from her long journey were beginning to fade, but there were fresh ones to take their place. Occasionally she could feel little patches where the softness was scarred and stretched. As her nails traced the ridges, the Elf mused that the flames and embers that she had tried to avoid seemed to have found her exposed skin without her noticing.

They certainly had found her hair. Many of her prized golden strands had gone up in cinders, leaving her with blackened, twisted ends at uneven lengths.

And there was the blood. It was matted and dried on her hair, on her skin – was it hers or that of another? She didn’t care to know.

There were pains that went deeper, of course. Ehlnofey had been forced through more suffering over the course of the past few days than she had over her entire long life. The potion had done wonders for those pains. Even if she preferred the healers back home, the red draught had relieved her of the throbbing in her head and ankle, sapping the aches away and leaving her with muted senses that may have been entirely from her mind. It left Ehlnofey feeling disoriented, strangely disconnected from the body she knew so well.

Even the latest of her wounds, the one from the beast that had left her arm oozing thickly, had closed after drinking the potion that the woman had given her. The blood was still smeared across her arm and her hands. Ehlnofey could still feel where she had bled, even if the wound was closed. It wasn’t supposed to hurt anymore, was it?

But she still ached.

The pads of her fingertips barely slid over the little divets in her wrists, and she drew in a pained breath. After two of those potions the rope burns were long gone, but the imprinted gouges in her wrists remained stubbornly behind. It had been so tightly bound, but the rain had made it shrink–

Ehlnofey stopped thinking and concentrated on her breathing. She could feel a new headache gnawing on the edge of her consciousness.

The Elf rolled over, restless in the darkness. For the first time since the warrior had come down to the cellar she found herself facing the stairwell. When he had returned, she had turned away, feigning sleep. 

Now he was asleep, down here with her but settled somewhere near the door. Ehlnofey’s sensitive ears picked up the sound of his deep, even breathing.

How could he have fallen asleep so easily?

Ehlnofey felt a stirring deep within her. She had to get out, had to cleanse herself of all of the offal that clung to her before it left her stained. It had been so long since the Elf had last tasted freedom.

She drew her fingers slowly over the leathery skins beneath her. Hearing no sound, the Elf splayed her fingers and pressed her palms down, pushing herself up into a sitting position.

Her ears perked to the sound of the warrior’s breathing. Its rhythm had gone on unbroken, his steady breaths easy to hear.

With growing confidence, Ehlnofey rolled onto her feet and stood up. The leather boots that had made her so clumsy and noisy had been the only thing she discarded before sleep. She would not be forced to disrobe in front of any Nord.

Her bare feet padded with practiced silence over the smooth stone floor.

Ehlnofey reached out, creeping along slowly as she sought out the wooden counter that she knew to be nearby. Eventually her fingers found the surface of the rough wooden grain. Using the counter to guide her, Ehlnofey crept onwards through the darkness, moving towards the stairs.

Her movement was slow enough that when her hand bumped into something on the counter, it hardly made a sound. The Elf gently traced the edges made of smooth metal. There was a rough surface on one end of it, ridged with deep grooves like the bark of a tree. Ehlnofey grasped the handle. It was light and harmless in her hold.

A dagger.

Every drop of Altermi blood in her veins screamed for Ehlnofey to get away from the weapon. Instead the Elf only gripped the wooden handle tighter, suddenly determined not to give in. The dagger stayed frozen in her grip as she turned back towards the exit.

Once Ehlnofey passed the unresponsive warrior, it was a simple matter to continue up the stairs.

It was odd, she thought, looking around at the odd shapes of the darkened room. The denizens of Skyrim seemed to have a peculiar fixation on their local wildlife. She had been shocked upon looking into the eyes of the deer mounted upon the walls. Pairs of inky, wild eyes staring out from the walls served to make her stomach curl in revulsion. In her home, such a morbid sight would never have been considered as a decoration. Nor would the stretched out furs that lay pinned to the walls or prone on the floor.

The family was still asleep in their beds. Ehlnofey quickly made for the door, eager to be away from the Nords.

She slipped out into the night air, gently holding the door behind her until it closed with a soft lock. 

When she turned to face the darkened town, Ehlnofey was caught off guard by the flutter of exhilaration that lodged itself high in her chest. The terror that had subdued her was swept away on the gentle breeze and replaced by a sudden burst of energy that she did not know she had left.

Part of her wanted to flee. It would be foolish, she knew. The Elf had nothing to offer and no idea of where to go. But the idea of freedom, of getting away from these foreign men and their brutal customs, was an appealing one.

But the need to go free was overran by the need to cleanse herself. Ehlnofey could not truly remember that last time she felt truly clean: it had only been a handful of days, but her home seemed so distant and far away, another lifetime. She trembled with excitement at the thought of restoring herself to her something like her former glory.

The Elf quickly made her way to the banks of the river that flowed behind the house.

Ehlnofey looked out over the water. It was the color of pitch, but the lapping waves were occasionally caught in the light of the moon and glinted like silver.

As she slid her foot into the gentle water, the Altmer felt the air flow out from her lungs. The noise came out somewhere between a breath and a sigh. The river enveloped her skin, caressed it, and Ehlnofey disregarded the chill. She was drawn into the water, slowly gliding out and sinking herself into its flow.

Ehlnofey continued to drift, going further out until she was swallowed up by the water.

The Elf allowed herself to remain underneath the gentle waves. She stretched her limbs languidly, relaxing and allowing them to undulate with the current. It whisked the loose grime from her skin and pulled it downstream.

Beneath the surface, everything was muffled. Ehlnofey relished in the illusion of being far away from the world with only the gentle trickling of the water as her companion. Her heart beat solidly in her ears, strong and steady. She focused on the sound and felt herself unwinding.

Ehlnofey broke the surface, her lungs burning indignantly.

She breathed heavily through her nose, immediately giving up the air as she laughed into the night. Despite everything, her heart still went on undaunted in her chest. The twitters that escaped her were unbidden, but she didn’t want to stop. In the water and alone, she felt buoyant, weightless against the heaviness that had settled upon her soul.

Ehlnofey was still very much alive, though no one would recognize her form in rags.

The rags that were, in fact, still clinging to her, trapping her skin in their musk of blood and dirt and divines only knew what else. Suddenly it too seemed very heavy.

She sunk beneath the water.

When she broke the surface again, Ehlnofey was wielding the dagger. It slipped awkwardly in her untrained hold as she wrapped her hands around the handle. She angled it straight down, plunging it beneath the water and clumsily slipping the blade in beside her hip. The belt that held her threadbare trousers tight against her skin was made of thick, braided rope, and it pulled taught as she pressed the dagger against it. For a moment, it stubbornly refused to budge as it pulled painfully around her hips.

A muffled snap thumped beneath the waves. Ehlnofey gasped when her arms jerked forward, uninhibited by the braided cord. The water carried it away.

The Elf felt as if she could burst with relief. Dagger in hand, she twirled in the water. Pulling her legs up and letting them float before her, Ehlnofey dug the blade into the terrible fabric surrounding them and pulled it down. It ripped terrifically. She began to dig the dagger in again and again, cutting the horrible burlap into ragged strips that were swept away by the river. 

If the blade slid against the skin on her legs, the Elf didn’t care. The feeling of destroying the fabric – the idea of it being gone, unable to hurt her or serve as a reminder – was pure euphoria.

She paused when the pants were in tatters. Ehlnofey held one of the rough scraps tightly in her free hand and squeezed the water out, staring intently at the rough fabric.

A moment later she was dunked under the water once more. Now she used the fabric to take away all of the disgusting refuse that remained on her skin. The Elf scrubbed frantically and thoroughly, refusing to stop until the oblong fabric was thick with grime. Only then did she release it to the current before tearing off another scrap.

Ehlnofey rose from the water for quick puffs of breath before immediately returning to her task. She moved with a purpose, and when the pants had nothing left to offer the Elf tore away at the shirt. The Elf scrubbed everything, repeating the motion until her pale skin was reddening and raw even in the numbingly cool water.

Hadvar hadn’t intended to wake up. It wasn’t an instinct that he resented, however – in his line of work, a soldier who didn’t sleep lightly didn’t survive his first ambush. He pushed his tiredness aside and immediately looked across the darkened room, trying to make out the figure of the High Elf in the darkness. It was immediately obvious that she wasn’t there. The soldier rose, checked on his family, grabbed some supplies, and went outside.

Now he was standing on the riverbank, feeling very foolish.

Ehlnofey was standing waist deep in the water, her back to him. He tried desperately to pull his gaze away from the sight of her skin, the pale yellow tone creamy and pure without the dirt masking it. His eyes followed the slight indent of her spine to the surface of the water. It arched ever so slightly as she moved, the water rolling down her back in shimmering rivulets.

In contrast, Hadvar’s mouth went dry. As he stood transfixed, he suddenly found himself having trouble distinguishing what it was about Ehlnofey that was so erringly inhuman.

She was holding the long, glowing strands of her hair over her shoulder in a bundle. When she turned her head to examine them, he caught her profile: her lashes fell like curtains over her smoldering eyes and her lips pursed together ever so slightly as she considered the charred ends.

It was the familiar glint of metal that finally drew his transfixed gaze away.

Hadvar watched anxiously as Ehlnofey pulled her hair taut with one hand and readied the dagger in the other. The blade was pulled through, sending the ends into the river as she allowed her long hair to sway back to her side.

He jumped guiltily when she suddenly disappeared into the river, the spell broken. Without seeing himself, Hadvar could feel the warmth of his skin and knew that his face was flushed. 

Back on the surface of the water, Ehlnofey’s hair had fanned out behind her into a perfect circle, shimmering like a golden sun against the moonlight.

When she resurfaced, there was no one on the shore.

Ehlnofey emerged from the water, wringing her wet hair out with both hands. The river water flowed off of her body, tracing its way around her slight curves on its way to soak the earth below. She shivered and looked down at something abandoned on the riverbank.

The clean dress was lying in the dirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! That was a long one, but it's been like a month so you guys deserved it. If you enjoyed it or have any questions, please comment and let me know. ;)


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